For the first period we’re neck and neck. It’s only halfway through the second period that I get ahead. I steal the puck and make a break for it.
I don’t get very far; two black-clad defensemen are building themselves up in front of me, the goalie a wall behind them.
There’s no way through, but at the right edge of my vision there’s a green blur.
Eyes?Nate’s voice echoes through my head.
Yup, I have those.Without thinking twice, I flick the puck over. Moments later I’m checked into the boards when the opposing D-Man crashes into me. The impact leaves me gasping for breath, my head ringing. I have no idea whether my pass reached its goal until our tiny green corner erupts.
They are screaming their lungs out and making me grin as I push the cursing Grizzly off of myself.
The scoreboard confirms it: We’re in the lead!
Nicko, October 21st
I’m surfing on a crowd of hands.
They are sneaking between my pads and digging into my ribs. My ass is grabbed a few times, but I don’t care one bit as I'm being thrown in the air and then caught again and again and again. My stomach flip-flops with nerves every time, but the arms around me are strong and steady.
The Grizzlies have long since left the ice, but the small green corner is still going wild, banging their fists against the glass and hollering from the top of their lungs. It takes a moment for me to make out real words, snorting when I finally get it:
“Van der Hart! Van der Hart!”
Each word is punctuated with a synchronized clap of hands, the sound echoing in the now almost empty arena. Yet my heartbeat still drowns it all out, the adrenaline of playing andwinningstill chasing through my veins.
There’s a replay of my goal filling out the big screen, and the crowd goes absolutely nuts all over again when Hart passes me the puck with razor-like precision. Even though I know what’s going to happen next, I’m still surprised when I watch it landperfectly on my stick. The replay slows down to show me flip the puck upward just to smash it into the upper left corner a moment later. The faces of the D-men are frozen in shock.
It doesn’t matter that this Nicko is wearing a dark green jersey with a bat on the front and the number 17 on the back—I know it’s me.
Idid that.
My first goal in a game since last December, and it feels so fucking good. Those Pioneers better scout the shit out of me after this game!
Or, well, out of Nate.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Hart laughs as he comes to a halt next to me. I am on solid ice again, my head tilted back to watch our second goal. This time I gave the assist and Hart took it in stride, hammering the puck into the net with full force.
It’s a beautiful goal and a damn nice assist. Man, I hope Adridge sees that clip—it would knock him right onto his pale pimpled ass.
For a small moment, I’m almost sad I didn’t play against my own team, just to shake that thought off quickly. They’re good guys, even when I didn’t click with them over the past few weeks.
But it’s really hard to miss them when Taylor bumps into my back, slinging an arm around me and yelling into my ear: “Hoff, you legend!”
***
“How’s your knee?”
Hart flops into the seat beside me. The whole team has gotten out of their suits and into comfortable clothes for the bus ride, so right now his black hair, still wet from the shower, is peeking out from under his hoodie. He brushes the longer strands off of hisforehead, and a few droplets land on the pages of the book I have opened in my lap.
I don’t feel like reading. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I cracked open a book. But Nate constantly buries his nose in one of these, so I randomly picked one off of his bookshelf.
“It’s okay,” I tell him as I wipe down the page with the sleeve of Nate’s SBU hoodie. It was tricky to divert the guys’ attention from my knee, since everyone kept asking about it after my fall. It bruised up pretty heavily—which actually helps to hide the surgery scars at first glance—but it’s not swollen, so I guess I was lucky. Overall, I expected more discomfort, due to how much ice time I saw this game.
“That’s good,” he hums as he pulls out some school books and a writing pad.
I go back to pretend-reading the book, but Hart doesn’t move. I glance over as I feel his eyes hover on me, the blue seeming brighter in the dim light of the bus.
“What is it?” I ask, consciously softening my voice. I’m very aware of the fact that things are tense between us. I acted uncharacteristically yesterday, not only for my brother but also for myself. It was a panic reaction, born from the stress of the situation and also the fear of getting discovered. My brother is a touchy guy, and I saw him hug Hart countless times in the past. I should have known that keeping my distance would alert Hart to the fact that something is different about his best friend.
